Rising Moon: A Jesse McDermitt Novel (Caribbean Adventure Series Book 19) Page 21

  I rose and got dressed, then headed to the galley. I was about to pour a healthy dose of Pusser’s into a glass when someone knocked on the hull.

  “Dad?”

  It was Flo.

  I switched on the interior lights and went up the companionway.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, stepping up to the side deck, then down into the cockpit. “I heard a yell.”

  “I just bumped my head,” I lied.

  She pulled my head down and looked at it. “You have a huge knot on your forehead. What’d you bang it on?”

  I sat on the starboard bench and she sat down beside me.

  “The nightmare came,” I said.

  “It’s just a dream,” Flo said.

  “Your mom was in it.”

  “What?”

  I’d told both Savannah and Flo about the recurring nightmare I sometimes had, how the faces appeared in order, starting with those I’d killed in Lebanon and continuing through to the present. Through a rifle scope, a person could see into the lives of their targets, see their faces up close, and now the images of the last second of their lives haunted me.

  “It was a warning,” I said, rubbing my head again.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Being around me puts you and her in danger.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Dad. Besides, Mom can take care of herself. Ask Charity.”

  I glanced over at my daughter. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She looked over toward Sea Biscuit, then, after a moment, she turned her gaze toward the rising moon. It was bright and just a day past full—the Cold Moon.

  “It happened a long time ago,” Flo began. “In the Berry Islands. I was about eight or nine. We ran into Charity at Hoffman’s Cay and were just having fun at the blue hole when these men suddenly arrived.”

  “What happened?”

  Flo looked down at the deck. “One had a gun and another, a knife. I’m not supposed to know, but Mom and Charity killed all four of those men.”

  “What?”

  “Please don’t tell her I told you,” she said, looking at me with tear-filled eyes. “She doesn’t know that I know.”

  I pulled her to me. I knew that Savannah had some martial arts training and, like the other night with Blanc’s aide, I’d seen her fight before. Charity killing four men was believable. But I couldn’t see Savannah being a part of it.

  “You mean Charity killed them,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Charity killed two, Mom killed one, and Woden killed the other one.”

  “You saw this happen?”

  “Woden killed the first man by knocking him off the cliff. He was the one with the gun. Then Mom kicked one to the ground and beat him to death. Her knuckles were cracked and bleeding for days. Charity took out the other two with her bare hands and one of them had a knife. Then she shot all three for good measure. They used an anchor and put their bodies in the blue hole.”

  I’d had no idea.

  “When did Mom appear in your dream?” she asked, looking up at me.

  “Near the beginning,” I said, somewhat confused.

  Flo smiled. “We’re not in danger being around you, Dad. Remember at the hospital the other night? She said she wouldn’t let them get you in your dreams.”

  I didn’t sleep well. I was both worried the nightmare would return and nervous about the wedding. Not the typical groom’s trepidation, but more concerned whether I was doing the right thing or not.

  A friend once told me, “the heart wants what the heart wants,” and it was true. But the emotional side had to be tempered by the conscious mind, especially where others were concerned.

  Regardless of what Flo had said, being close to me meant they were close to danger. I’d already given up on the idea of “hanging up my guns,” like John Wayne in The Shootist. Each time I tried, something came up, like what happened to Cobie Murphy, and I was sucked back into it. I couldn’t ignore the pain and suffering of others, and many of my friends and I had certain skills that could alleviate some of that hurt.

  It was already light out when I finally woke. I lay there staring at the overhead for a moment, then went to the galley for coffee.

  I was startled by what sounded like several hands slapping the hull.

  “Rise and shine!” a familiar voice called from outside.

  I went up the companionway to find Charity and Chyrel standing beside my boat.

  “What a catch,” Charity said sarcastically. “Savannah’s sure one lucky woman.”

  Chyrel laughed. “You look like shit, Jesse. Too much bachelor party?”

  “There’s coffee if you want,” I said, going back down to the galley.

  The two women boarded and came down the companionway.

  “What’s wrong?” Chyrel asked, noting my sour disposition. “You’re drinking coffee, so you should be almost human.”

  I sat at the dinette and she sat across from me, while Charity leaned against the bulkhead beside her.

  “I’m having second thoughts.”

  “That makes you certifiably nuts,” Chyrel said, then looked up at Charity. “We might need a straitjacket.”

  “I can’t stop what I do,” I said. “And having Savannah at my side puts her in danger.”

  Charity looked down at the deck, avoiding my eyes.

  “Last night, Flo told me what happened when you were with them at Hoffman’s Cay ten years ago.”

  “You needn’t worry,” Charity said. “She might be every bit as capable as you; maybe not as strong or as good with a rifle, but she can take care of herself. Hoffman’s Cay wasn’t the first encounter she’s had.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

  “She told me there had been others,” Charity said. “Men who wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s not a delicate little flower, Jesse.”

  “How do I not know this?”

  “Because she chose not to tell you,” Chyrel said.

  “You know how she is,” Charity added. “She doesn’t brag on anything except Flo.” She paused. “There’s something else you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We’ve gotten together again several times over the years. While I was teaching Flo to swim, I was also training Savannah to fight and shoot. She was already a black belt, but taekwondo is defensive. She wanted to take it to the next level. The first time we got together after Hoffman’s, Flo was abducted and—”

  “What?” I shouted. “Abducted? By who?”

  “Men working for Savannah’s ex,” Charity said. “She was a mess at first, but when we found out it was him, she became as enraged as a mother lioness. If she’d found out on her own, she would have killed him.”

  Why had she never told me this? I wondered.

  “See?” Chyrel said. “She’s a strong woman, Jesse. You don’t have to watch over her all the time. She can take care of herself.”

  “Rusty sent us down here to get you,” Charity said. “You need to go up to the house and get dressed. The ceremony starts in an hour and Savannah can’t leave her boat until you’re at the altar.”

  “So, come on,” Chyrel said, pushing my mug toward me. “Down the hatch and all that. We gotta get you married.”

  I locked up the Dog and we went to the bar first. I needed something to eat and I didn’t need an hour to get dressed. I was still conflicted, possibly because I hadn’t slept well and partly because I knew that unless she carried a gun everywhere she went, Savannah would one day be in danger.

  At the appointed time, Tank and I went out to the deck behind the bar. David was already at the altar with Rusty. He was the only groomsman.

  “You clean up good,” Rusty said, when Tank and I reached them.

  He, too, was wearing a coat and tie. Sidney had insisted, after shopping with Savannah for a dress. Like me, he had to buy one, since neither of us owned anything dressier than a fishing shirt, unless you counted ol
d dress blue uniforms.

  The scene was eerily similar to the morning fifteen years ago when I’d married Alex. The thought of how she’d been murdered on our wedding night weighed heavily on my mind.

  “I know what you’re thinkin’,” Rusty said, as the four of us stood in front of a crowd of about thirty people.

  Giant butterflies were doing aerobatics in my gut. “Oh yeah?”

  Rusty looked me in the eye. “You’re worried for Savannah. Scared that your violent life could rub off on her.”

  “It’s a valid fear,” I said. “But I’ve learned a few things, and come spring, I’ll be aboard Ambrosia, directing other snake-eaters.”

  “What’s Ambrosia?” Tank asked.

  “Armstrong Research’s primary excursion vessel,” I replied. “A two-hundred-foot converted yacht.”

  There were a few gasps and whispers from the crowd. They were all looking across the canal.

  Rusty grinned. “Last chance. Here she comes.”

  I looked across the canal but didn’t see anyone. Then Flo came from behind the boat docked next to Sea Biscuit. She wore a flowing pink dress, which the wind caused to billow in front of her.

  “Wow,” David breathed.

  Behind her came Finn and Woden. The two big dogs marched with their heads up, looking around, and occasionally taking a quick glance behind them.

  Then Savannah came from behind the boat and my mouth fell open. I hadn’t seen the dress she’d chosen, and she hadn’t told me anything about it. I’d only been told that I had to wear a jacket and a tie.

  And shoes.

  Savannah’s dress was white, with long sleeves and a somewhat revealing neckline. It hugged her body tighter than I ever could, all the way to her narrow waist. From there, the dress flared out to the sides, exposing her long legs in front. Behind her, Charity was holding a moderate train up off the dock. She wore nothing on her head and her hair was pulled up, but then cascaded down in long, dangly curls at her shoulders. In her hands, she carried a small bouquet of white flowers.

  I saw a flash of white on a tanned thigh and was instantly struck dumb. If I had to form words, I was done for.

  With each step she took, I could see it. On Savannah’s upper left thigh, instead of the traditional garter, she wore a small white holster, holding a pearl-handled Derringer.

  I felt the press of the holstered Sig behind my back and smiled.

  There wasn’t going to be a repeat of fifteen years ago.

  The trio came around the end of the dock as a string quartet played “The Wedding March” in muted tones.

  Smiling at me, Flo led the procession between the rows of chairs.

  I noticed the dogs checking each row of guests, looking for an unfamiliar face. They saw none.

  Then Savannah joined me at the altar. Flo and Charity took their places by her side.

  As if they’d rehearsed it, Finn came and stood between me and Tank, while Woden took a spot between his charges.

  “I’ve never seen any woman look as beautiful as you do right now,” I said softly, looking down into eyes as blue as the Caribbean.

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” she said, smiling mischievously. “But I think you’re just turned on by the gun.”

  I smiled back and we turned to face Rusty.

  “Friends and family,” he began, “we’re gathered here today to witness the union of Jesse and Savannah in marriage. If anyone here knows of any reason these two shouldn’t be married, I’d advise you to keep your pie-hole shut. She ain’t fooling around.”

  Everyone had seen the Derringer. There was nervous laughter from some of the assembled crowd.

  “Do you have the rings?”

  Tank produced a small box and opened it. My fingers shook as I removed the gold band and turned to Savannah.

  “Place the ring on her left hand,” Rusty instructed.

  I did, and then Savannah took a ring from Flo and put it on my hand.

  “The giving of rings symbolizes love,” Rusty said. “It has no beginning, no middle, and no end. It just is. Jesse, do you take this woman to be your wife, forever and ever?”

  “I do,” I replied.

  “And Savannah, do you take this man to be your husband for all time?”

  “I do.” Savannah smiled at me, as bright as the morning sun.

  “That’s all I need to hear,” Rusty said. “By the power vested in me by the great state of Florida, I say you are husband and wife. Jesse, you may kiss your bride.”

  Savannah turned and handed her bouquet to Flo, then melted into my arms, kissing me with a passion she’d never shown in public.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Rusty shouted over the cheers, “I present to you, the McDermitts; Jesse, Savannah, and Florence.”

  We didn’t want to make a big deal about it but the day before, Flo had gone to the courthouse and changed her name, taking the one she should have had since birth.

  Tables were quickly covered with food as Rufus directed a work force of fishing guides.

  The party was starting.

  Later, as Savannah and I were talking to my daughters, Eve and Kim, and their spouses, Nick and Marty, Rufus made his way over to us. He smiled, clasping his hands in front.

  “Dis is a great day, Cap’n Jesse and Miss Savannah. I and I thought dat it would nevah come. Di start of a new adventuh.”

  “Thank you, Rufus,” Savannah said, hugging the slight old man. “It’s very sweet of you.”

  “Yes,” I added, “and thanks for all the work you put into this.”

  “Di work have only begun,” he said. “You will have many happy years; di gods have told me dis. But it will take work. Remember dat not all storms come to disrupt yuh life. Some come to clear di path.”

  We partied with our family at the Anchor throughout the day. Then, as the sun began to dip toward the western horizon and the Cold Moon rose to the east, Savannah and I slipped away.

  That night, the new year arrived as we made love on the Grady’s padded foredeck under the stars. We spent most of the night in each other’s arms, anchored in the Gulf half a mile north of the Contents, watching the stars and drinking a vintage wine.

  We spent the next two days alone on the island. Our island. Cut off from everyone but each other. We walked hand-in-hand from island to sandbar to island, splashing through the shallows and collapsing on the sand.

  Flo stayed on Sea Biscuit with Tank and the dogs. We checked in with her each day and the first morning, she reported that Chyrel had come and picked Tank up.

  The house the real estate agent took him and Chyrel to see was on Grassy Key and was exactly what Tank was looking for. The price was under his budget and he didn’t bother to negotiate it lower.

  “Offers and counter-offers take weeks,” he explained to us when we’d returned from our brief honeymoon.

  While we were gone, Chyrel and Charity helped him pick out new furniture, and as soon as the couch was delivered, he sat Chyrel on it and asked her to be his wife.

  What the terms of the marriage were to be and how far it extended, I didn’t know and didn’t ask. But I could tell Chyrel cared for him and she made him laugh. In the end, that’s all that really mattered. They went to the courthouse the following day and had the judge marry them.

  Returning to that shack, deep in the Glades, wasn’t something any of us relished. But four days after the wedding, that’s exactly what we did.

  Chyrel had dug into Vanessa Ramos’s past and found that she had no living relatives and only a small handful of friends. We invited the friends, but only two agreed to go with us. Cobie, Donna, and Manny, along with Michelle Tate and her husband joined us.

  Out there in the marsh, we doused the interior of Willy Quick’s SUV with gas and pushed it under the shack before torching them both.

  None of us knew Vanessa, except the two friends who’d agreed to come. One of them said a few words about the kind of friend she’d been and then Tony, whose father had been a preacher, said a pray
er for the girl’s soul, that she might find peace.

  The following weekend, just a week after Savannah’s and my wedding, I took the Revenge up to Singer Island, just north of Palm Beach, for the big sailfish tournament. The evening before the start, while Jimmy, Rusty, Tank and I prepped our gear, I got a call from Buck Reilly.

  “You find what you were looking for yet?” Buck asked.

  I leaned on the gunwale and looked to the south. “Nothing to my liking,” I replied.

  The truth was, I hadn’t even looked for another plane yet. But Reilly was a shrewd businessman. If he knew his was the only game in town, the price would be higher.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  “Details? Price?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “I remember it being complicated last time,” I replied. “Is it always that way, Reilly?”

  “I need your help. Here’s the deal…”

  He outlined what he needed done and, as luck would have it, my long-range trawler, Floridablanca, was only a day’s sail away and was well equipped to handle the job. If things worked out well, I’d have a flying boat very soon.

  We didn’t do well in the tournament, at least not well enough to make the top four. But we had a great time just the same. Out of forty-two boats in the tournament and over a hundred anglers, nearly everyone hooked and released at least one sailfish. We only released three between us and Tank’s was by far the biggest.

  I went to see Cobie just after we’d returned from Singer Island. I’d taken her wakeboard with me to the tournament, dropping it off to a guy in Miami who built such things. I’d arranged for him to do a rush job and paid him a thousand dollars to make a board to the exact dimensions as the one Ty Sampson had made, only better, and with one small detail added.

  When I brought it to her at their trailer on Grassy Key, she had a bandage over her left eye. I ignored it and handed her the board.

  At first, she thought it was the same one.

  “No,” I assured her. “This one’s almost like it, but better.”

  She examined the board, which was lying on the hood of her little blue car. She picked it up. “It’s lighter.”